Midnight Crystal (27 page)

“They do know that, yes.”

“Relax, we’ve got the world’s best cover story.”

“That would be the cover story that implies that you and I are involved in an affair?” he asked neutrally.

“That one.” She grimaced. “Still, it is sort of embarrassing, though.”

“What is embarrassing? Everyone thinking that a respectable member of the Jones family is having an affair with a Guild boss?”

“No.” She shot him a quelling glare. “That was not what I meant. I was referring to the sound transmission in the jungle issue.”

He grabbed his pack, opened it, and yanked out a T-shirt. “Look, I’m sorry about this, Marlowe, but given all that’s been going on lately, you have to admit that in the grand scheme of things, it really isn’t important.”

“Not important? You’re saying our relationship isn’t important?”

“Damn it, you know I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “Are you saying we have a relationship?”

“What would you call it?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “You’re the one who keeps saying we’re
partners
.”

“We
are
partners.” She paused. “Sort of.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the basis for our partnership disappeared yesterday when we reestablished the rhythms in that maze.”

She got to her feet. “Why are we arguing like this?”

“Beats the hell out of me, partner.”

She stepped around the corner of the cot and went into his arms.

“Adam, this is ridiculous,” she said against his chest.

“I agree.” He smiled into her hair. “So, does this mean that you’ll be my date for the reception on Friday night?”

“What reception?”

“The official welcome reception for the new boss of the Frequency Guild.”

“Oh, that reception,” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

“Just think. Our first real date.”

He caught her chin on the edge of his hand and started to raise her mouth for a kiss.

An outraged screech from somewhere outside the tent stopped him cold.

Marlowe stepped back quickly. “What in the world?”

“I think it came from the direction of the kitchen tent,” Adam said.

He released her to raise the flap. He saw Liz and Jill standing in the center of the small compound, hands planted on their hips, grim expressions on their faces.

Heads popped out of the neighboring tents.

“What’s wrong?” a tech asked.

“We’ve been raided,” Jill announced. “The food is gone.”

“All of it?” Dr. Nyland asked, perplexed.

“Eggs, fruit juice, biscuit mix, sausages, jam,” Jill said. “And that’s just the breakfast stuff. You can forget lunch and dinner, as well. They ripped off almost three days’ worth of supplies. There isn’t even a single energy bar left. We’re all going to be foraging in the rain forest this morning.”

“The only thing they didn’t take was the coffee,” Jill said. “Probably because the cans were too heavy for the little suckers to cart off into the jungle.”

“What little suckers?” Nyland asked.

“Dust bunnies,” Jill said. “Saw the last one scurrying out through the hole in the tent just as we got there.”

“Uh-oh,” Marlowe said.

Adam noticed that she was looking at Gibson, who was sitting on the cot, polishing off the energy bar.

“I think I know what you were doing last night,” Marlowe said to Gibson. “And here I thought you were boldly hunting wild game and having torrid sex in the rain forest, doing the nature in the raw thing.”

Gibson chortled and ate the last of the energy bar.

“Why hunt when you can round up a bunch of your buddies and raid the humans’ kitchen tent?” Adam asked.

“What about the torrid sex in the jungle part?” Marlowe said.

“As I recall, we were the ones doing that.”

SHE GOT BACK INTO HER OFFICE THE FOLLOWING DAY shortly before noon. Rick grabbed the two newspapers on his desk and held them up so that she could see the headlines.

“You’re famous again, boss,” he said. “Nice work. This is going to be so good for business.”

Gibson chortled a greeting, leaped nimbly out of Marlowe’s leather pack, and hopped up onto the desk.

“You’re famous, too, biker dude,” Rick said. He showed Gibson the copy of the
Examiner
. “See? That’s you sitting on the big Guild man’s shoulder.”

Gibson displayed no interest in the picture. He sidled across the desk to the locked cookie jar and assumed a hopeful air. Rick put down the papers and went to work opening the jar.

“Help yourself, dude,” Rick said. He raised the lid with a flourish. “You deserve it. You’re one of the heroes of the hour.”

Marlowe peeled off her leather jacket and hung it on a hook. She went to the desk and glanced down at the headlines. The picture on the front of the
Examiner
had been taken just as she and Adam emerged from the rain forest through the main gate.

They had walked out to find a large crowd of reporters, bloggers, curiosity seekers, and city officials waiting for them. Marlowe knew that was no accident. Adam had cold-bloodedly plotted the entire media frenzy before they had left the camp. He had sent a small group of lab techs up to the surface first to contact the Chamber and tell them what had happened. The Chamber’s press office had taken over from there. The Frequency Guild desperately needed a public image makeover, and the story of what had happened in the rain forest was perfect.

The headline in the sober, sedate, ever-so-serious
Amber Intelligencer
was a publicist’s dream.

The headline in the
Examiner
took a slightly different slant on the news.

“Oh, geez,” Marlowe said. She tossed the
Examiner
down onto the desk. “Somehow I don’t really think that being labeled the new boss’s mistress is going to bring J&J a lot of business.”

“Wait and see.” Rick looked knowing. “I’m telling you, J&J is going to be the hottest psychic private investigation agency in town.”

“Meanwhile, I should get back to work on the few cases we’ve actually got. Where’s the museum theft file?”

“On your desk,” Rick said. “Let’s talk about the important stuff first, though. What are you wearing to the big Guild affair tonight?”

“Gee, I dunno. I’m thinking maybe my leather jacket, chaps, and boots.”

“The dominatrix look is classic, of course,” Rick said. “But in this particular instance, you’ll be representing Jones & Jones. I feel that you should go with something a bit more elegant.”

“I’ll have to see what I’ve got in the back of the closet.”

 

 

SHORTLY AFTER THREE O’CLOCK THAT AFTERNOON, the phone rang again for what had to have been the hundredth time. Marlowe ignored it to concentrate on the file she was reading. The door to the reception area was open, however, so she heard Rick repeat the message he had delivered dozens of times that day.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Jones is not giving interviews to the media. I have been instructed to refer all calls of this nature to the public relations office of the Frequency Guild. Yes, Miss Jones will be attending the reception for the new CEO of the Guild this evening.”

Rick ended the call. The phone rang again almost immediately.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Miss Jones is not available to appear on your program.”

Marlowe tuned out the conversation and finished the file. When she was done, she closed the folder and sat quietly for a while, thinking. It was at times like this, she decided, that Uncle Zeke would have opened the bottom drawer of the desk and taken out the bottle of Alien Ruin whiskey that he had always kept there. He claimed it helped him focus his talent.

She looked at Gibson, who was dozing on the cushion of the client chair. He was stretched out flat on his back, all six paws in the air.

“What do you say we go for a ride, pal?”

Gibson’s blue eyes popped open. In one neat little twist, he was on his feet, chortling enthusiastically. Marlowe rose, went around the desk, and scooped him up.

She went out into the small reception area. Rick was just ending another call.

“I’m going to be gone for an hour or so,” she told him. “If I’m not back by five, go ahead and close up.”

He looked up, squinting a little through the stylish glasses. “Something wrong, boss?”

“I want to take another look at a crime scene.”

“Which one?”

“The museum theft. I went back over the file. There’s something that bothers me.”

“Still worried because everyone except Dr. Lewis has a mag-steel alibi?”

“It’s Dr. Lewis’s dreamprints at the scene that bother me. I’m going to take another look at them.”

“Fine, but it’s after four. You need to allow plenty of time to get dressed. All eyes will be on the new Guild boss and the lady who helped him save the underworld tonight.”

“Oddly enough, the reception is not the kind of appointment a person tends to forget. Right up there with going to the dentist.”

“Hah. It’s one of the most glamorous events of the season, and you and Adam Winters will be the center of attention. You should be thrilled.”

“I’ll do my best.” She took her leather jacket and helmet off the wall hooks and headed toward the door with Gibson tucked under her arm.

“Remember, you’re going for elegant, boss.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

She opened the door and went out into the late-afternoon light. She plopped Gibson into the saddlebag, settled the helmet on her head, pulled on her gloves, and got on board Dream.

She rezzed the powerful flash-rock engine and cruised away from the curb, working her way deeper into the Quarter. The building that housed the Society’s collection of paranormal artifacts and the research facilities associated with them was a hulking, nondescript Colonial-era structure located near the wall.

From the outside, the building resembled its neighbors on the street: just one more aging, down-at-the-heels Old Quarter warehouse. In keeping with Arcane’s six-hundred-year-old tradition of maintaining a low profile, there was no sign out front.

She drove around the corner and cruised down the alley behind the museum. At the back door, she stopped, kicked down the stand, and plucked Gibson out of the saddlebag.

She went up the three steps and rang the doorbell. Eleanor Gilling, one of the curators, responded.

“Oh, it’s you, Marlowe,” Eleanor said. “We’re just getting ready to close for the day.”

Marlowe moved through the entrance into a cluttered office area. “I won’t be long. I want to take one more look at the entrance to the vault where the old lamp was stored.”

“Certainly.” Eleanor’s eyes lit with excitement. “We all saw the news in the papers today. The reason we’re closing early is so that the entire staff can watch the opening ceremonies of the reception for the new Guild boss. You’re going to be there with Adam Winters.”

“So I’m told,” Marlow said.

“This is so exciting. To think that you’ll be on the rez-screen tonight.”

“I’m sure the attention will be on Adam Winters, not J&J or Arcane.”

“True, but still, for those of us in the Society, this is quite thrilling. After all, you and Mr. Winters saved the underworld and very likely the Old Quarters and the Dead Cities, as well. Those of us in the field of para-archaeology will be forever grateful.”

“We all had a vested interest.”

“Quite true,” Eleanor agreed. “Now, then, you’re here about the theft of that old artifact, aren’t you? Have you made some progress with the investigation?”

“Things are coming along rapidly,” Marlowe said. “We should be able to identify a suspect very shortly.”

Uncle Zeke had made it clear to her the first day on the job that the number one priority in any investigation was to make it appear that progress was being made.
“It not only reassures the client, it often works to shake loose a few leads. Bad guys get rattled when they think you’re actually getting somewhere.”

“It will be such a relief to have the mystery solved,” Eleanor said. “There have been rumors that it was an inside job, but none of us believes that. Come with me; I’ll escort you down to the storage vaults.”

“Thank you.”

While the outside of the museum building showed its age, the interior was state-of-the-art. The labs and workrooms were filled with gleaming equipment and sophisticated instruments. Computers sat on every desktop, all of them heavily encrypted. Marlowe wondered if Arcane would ever leave behind the old habit of keeping secrets.